CHAPTER V
MYTHS OF THE SUN, MOON, AND STARS
We come now to myths in which the Sun and the Moon, and other objects of nature, play the most important part. We find myths of this sort all over the globe, some of them crude and simple, and some of them in the form of very beautiful stories.
The Incas of Peru believed they were descended from the Sun, so with them the Sun was their totem instead of an animal or a plant. But there came a time when the Incas established a higher god than the Sun. They deposed the Sun because it could move only in one part of the heavens and so must have a ruler over it. So then to the question: “What are the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars,” they answered: “They are men and women. At evening they swim in the waters, they go down from sight in the west. In the morning the Sun cometh forth at Wau-bunong, the Place of Breaking Light.”
According to the Cherokee Indians, a number of beings were employed in constructing the Sun, the first planet made. “It was the intention of the Creator that men should live always, but the Sun, having surveyed the land, and, finding an insufficiency for their support, changed this design, and arranged that they should die. The daughter of the Sun was the first to suffer under this law. She was bitten by a serpent, and died. Thereupon the Sun decreed that men should live always. At the same time, he commissioned a few persons to take a box, and seek the spirit of his daughter, and return with it encased therein. In no wise must the box be opened. But the box was opened. Immortality fled. Men must die.”
The Sun-God was not always able to carry everything before him, as the story of his battle with the Hare-God shows, as well as the various stories about his being ensnared and his course regulated. In some countries, the Sun is the husband of the Moon, in others the Moon is the husband of the Sun. Again the Moon will be the sister of the Sun or the Sun the sister of the Moon.
THE NAVAJO STORY OF THE MAKING OF THE SUN, MOON, AND STARS
At the beginning, when the people had all crept out of the aperture in the cave in which they had previously lived, a council of wise men was held to discuss the propriety of introducing more light upon the earth, which at that time was very small, being lit only by a twilight, like that seen just at the breaking of dawn. Having deliberated some time, the wise men concluded to have a sun and moon, and a variety of stars placed above the earth. They first made the heavens for them to be placed in; then the old men of the Navajos commenced building a sun, which was done in a large house constructed for the purpose.
To the other tribes was confided the making of the moon and stars, which they soon accomplished; when it was decided to give the sun and moon to the guidance of the two dumb Fluters, who had figured with some importance as musicians in their former place of residence in the cave, and one of whom had accidentally conceived the plan of leaving that place for their present more agreeable quarters. These two men, who have carried the two heavenly bodies ever since, staggered at first with their weight; and the one who carried the sun came near burning the earth by bearing it too near, before he had reached the aperture in the mountain through which he was to pass during the night. This misfortune, however, was prevented by the old men, who puffed the smoke of their pipes toward it, which caused it to retire to a greater distance in the heavens. These men have been obliged to do this four times since the dumb man—the Fluter—has carried the sun in the heavens; for the earth has grown very much larger than at the beginning, and consequently the sun would have to be removed, or the earth and all therein would perish in its heat. Now, after the sun and moon had taken their places, the people commenced embroidering the stars upon the heavens the wise men had made, in beautiful and varied patterns and images. Bears and fishes and all varieties of animals were being skilfully drawn, when in rushed a prairie wolf, roughly exclaiming: “What folly is this? Why are you making all this fuss to make a bit of embroidery? Just stick the stars about the sky anywhere;” and, suiting the action to the word, the villainous wolf scattered a large pile all over the heavens. Thus it is that there is such confusion among the few images which the tasteful Navajos had so carefully elaborated.
THE STORY OF THE CONQUERING OF THE SUN
(_North American Indian_)
Once upon a time Tä-vwotz, the Hare-God, was sitting with his family by the camp-fire in the solemn woods, anxiously waiting for the return of Tä-vi, the wayward Sun-God. Weary with long watching, the Hare-God fell asleep, and the Sun-God came so near that he scorched the shoulders of Tä-vwotz. Foreseeing the vengeance which would be thus provoked, he fled back to his cave beneath the earth. Tä-vwotz awoke in great wrath and speedily determined to go and fight the Sun-God.
After a long journey of many adventures the Hare-God came to the brink of the earth, and there watched long and patiently, till at last, the Sun-God coming out, he shot an arrow in his face; but the fierce heat consumed the arrow ere it had finished its course. Then other arrows were sped, till only one remained in his quiver; but this was the magical arrow that never failed its mark. Tä-vwotz, holding it in his hand, lifted the barb to his eye and baptized it in a divine tear; then the arrow was sped and struck the Sun-God full in the face, and the sun was shivered into a thousand fragments, which fell to the earth and caused a general conflagration. Then Tä-vwotz, the Hare-God, fled before the destruction he had wrought; and as he fled, the burning earth consumed his feet, consumed his legs, consumed his body, his hands and arms. All were consumed but the head alone, which rolled across valleys and over mountains, fleeing destruction from the burning earth, until at last, swollen with heat, the eyes of the god burst, and the tears gushed forth in a flood which spread over the earth and extinguished the fire. The Sun-God was now conquered; and he appeared before a council of the gods to await sentence.
In that long council were established the days and nights, the seasons and years, with the length thereof, and the Sun-God was condemned to travel across the firmament by the same trail every day.
* * * * *
Another view of the religion of the sun is shown in the Indian hymns to the sun, as it is rising, at mid-day, and at sunset. After the Indian hymn, we shall find it interesting to go to the opposite side of the earth and see what a Hindoo hymn to the sun is like. It is less a prayer than the Indian hymn, and, like the other Hindoo hymns, a song of praise.
HYMN TO THE SUN
(_North American Indian_)
Great Spirit! Master of our lives. Great Spirit! Master of things visible and invisible, and who daily makes them visible and invisible. Great Spirit! Master of every other spirit, good or bad, command the good to be favorable unto us, and deter the bad from the commission of evil.
O Grand Spirit! preserve the strength and courage of our warriors, and augment their numbers, that they may resist oppression from our enemies, and recover our country and the rights of our fathers.
O Grand Spirit! preserve the lives of such of our old men as are inclined to give counsel to the young. Preserve our children and multiply their number, and let them be the comfort and support of declining age. Preserve our corn and our animals, and let no famine desolate the land. Protect our villages, guard our lives!
O Great Spirit! when hidden in the west protect us from our enemies, who violate the night and do evil when thou art not present. Good Spirit! make known to us your pleasure by sending to us the Spirit of Dreams. Let the Spirit of Dreams proclaim thy will in the night, and we will perform it in the day; and if it say the time of some be closed, send them, Master of Life, to the great country of souls, where they may meet their friends, and where thou art pleased to shine upon them with a bright, warm and perpetual blaze!
O Grand, O Great Spirit! hearken to the voice of the nations, hearken to all thy children, and remember us always, for we are descended from thee.
Courage, nations, courage! the Great Spirit, now above our heads, will make us vanquish our enemies; he will cover our fields with corn, and increase the animals of our woods. He will see that the old be made happy, and that the young augment. He will make the nations prosper, make them rejoice, and make them put up their voice to him, while he rises and sets in their land, and while his heat and light can thus gloriously shine out.
The nations must prosper; they have been looked upon by the Great Spirit. What more can they wish? Is not that happiness enough? See, he retires, great and content, after having visited his children with light and universal good.
O Grand Spirit! sleep not longer in the gloomy west, but return and call your people to light and life—to light and life—to light and life.
HYMN TO SÛRYA, THE SUN
(_From the “Rig Veda”_)
His heralds bear him up aloft, the god who knoweth all that lives, Sûrya, that all may look on him. The constellations pass away, like thieves, together with their beams, Before the all-beholding Sun.
His herald rays are seen afar refulgent o’er the world of men, Like flames of fire that hum and blaze. Swift and all beautiful art thou, O Sûrya, maker of the light, Illuming all the radiant realm Thou goest to the hosts of the gods, thou comest hither to mankind, Hither all light to be beheld.
Traversing sky and wide mid-air, thou makest with thy beams our days, Sun, seeing all things that have birth. Seven bay steeds harnessed to thy car bear thee, O thou far-seeing one, God, Sûrya, with the radiant hair. Sûrya hath yoked the pure bright seven, the daughters of the chariot; With these, self-yoked, he goeth forth. Looking upon the loftier light above the darkness we have come To Sûrya, god among the gods, the light that is most excellent.
THE WORSHIP OF THE SUN, AND THE DREAM OF ONAWUTAQUTO
(_North American Indian_)
On the shores of Lake Huron there lived, a long time ago, an aged Odjibwa and his wife, who had an only son—a very beautiful boy—whose name was Onawutaquto, or He that catches Clouds. These parents were proud of their son, and anticipated the time when they should see him a celebrated warrior. But when Onawutaquto arrived at the proper age, he was unwilling to submit to the fast prescribed to youths entering manhood, which very much disturbed his parents, who denied him food at their lodge, giving him only charcoal with which to blacken his face, according to the custom. Finally he consented to their wishes, and left the lodge for a place of solitude. The night came on and the youth slept. In his dream a beautiful woman came down from the clouds and stood by his side. “Onawutaquto,” said she, “I am come for you; follow in my footsteps.” The young man obeyed, and presently found himself ascending gradually above the trees, where, passing through an orifice in the clouds, he perceived that he had arrived upon a beautiful plain. Following his guide, he entered a splendidly furnished lodge, on one side of which there were bows and arrows, clubs and spears, and various warlike implements, tipped with silver. On the other side were articles exclusively belonging to women, which were of the most elegant description.
This, the young man found, was the home of his fair guide, who, exhibiting to him a broad rich belt that she was embroidering with many colors, said: “Let me conceal you beneath this belt, for my brother is coming, and I must hide you from him.” Then, placing him in one corner of the lodge, she concealed him entirely with the belt. Presently her brother came in. He was very richly dressed, and his whole person shone as if he had bright points of silver glittering all over his garments. Without speaking, the brother took down from the wall a very richly carved pipe, within which he placed a fragrant smoking mixture, and regaled himself. When he had finished he turned to his sister, saying: “Nemissa, my elder sister, when will you quit these practices? Do you forget that the Great Spirit has commanded that you should not take away the children from below? Perhaps you suppose that you have effectually concealed Onawutaquto, and I do not know of his presence. If you would not offend me, send him immediately down to his parents.” But Nemissa was resolved to retain the young man, and the brother desisted from urging his request. Addressing the youth, he said: “Come forth from your concealment, and walk about and amuse yourself! You will become hungry if you remain there.” He then presented him with a bow and arrow, and a pipe of red stone elaborately ornamented. This was a signal that he consented to the marriage of Nemissa to Onawutaquto, which immediately took place. The young man found that the lodge, which was now his home, was situated in the most delightful part of the plain; and all things—the flowers and trees and birds—were more beautiful than any on earth. The streams ran more swiftly, and gleamed like silver. The animals were full of enjoyment, while the birds wore feathers of gorgeous colors. Onawutaquto observed that the brother regularly left in the morning, returning in the evening, when his sister would depart, remaining away a portion of the night. This aroused his curiosity, and, wishing to solve the mystery of this singular habit, he sought and obtained consent to accompany the brother in one of his daily journeys. They travelled over a smooth plain without boundaries, until Onawutaquto felt exceedingly fatigued and very much in need of food, and he asked his companion if there were no game in that region. “Patience, my brother,” answered he, “we shall soon reach the spot where I eat my dinner, and you will then see in what way I am provided.” After walking on a long time, they came to a place which was spread over with very fine mats, where they sat down to rest. There was at this place a round aperture in the sky, looking through which Onawutaquto discovered the earth, with its gleaming lakes and thick forests. In some places he could see the villages of the Indians, and in others he saw a war party stealing upon the camp of its enemy. In another place he saw feasting and dancing, where, on the green plain, young men were engaged at ball. Along the stream the women were employed in gathering apukwa for mats. “Do you see,” said the brother, “that group of children playing beside a lodge? Observe that beautiful and active boy,” said he, at the same time darting something at him from his hand. The child immediately fell upon the ground, and was carried into a lodge where the people gathered in crowds; when Onawutaquto heard the Jossakeed, or priest, asking the child’s life in the sheshegwam, or “song of entreaty.” To this entreaty the companion of Onawutaquto made answer: “Send me up the sacrifice of a white dog.” Immediately a feast was ordered by the parents of the child; the white dog was killed, his carcass was roasted, and all the wise men and the Jossakeed of the village assembled to witness the ceremony. “There are many below,” said the brother to Onawutaquto, “whom you call Jossakeed, because of their great success in the medical science, but it is to me they owe their skill. When I have struck one of the people with sickness, the Jossakeed directs them to look to me; and when they send me the offering I ask, I remove my hand from off them and they recover.” The sacrifice was now parcelled out in dishes, when the master of the feast said: “We send this to thee, great Manito, thou that dwellest in the sun.” And immediately the roasted animal came up to the two residents of the sky. After partaking of this repast, they returned to the lodge by another way. It was in this manner Onawutaquto lived for some time; but at last he became wearied of such a life, and, thinking of his friends he had left, one day he asked permission of his wife to return to the earth, to which, with great reluctance and with many delays, she consented. “Since you are better pleased,” she said, “with the cares and the ills and the poverty of your earthly life than with the peaceful delights of the sky, go! I give you permission, and I will guide your return; but remember, you are still my husband. I hold a chain in my hand by which I can draw you back whenever I will. Beware, therefore, how you venture to take a wife among the people below. Should you ever do so, it is then you shall feel the full force of my displeasure.” As she said this her eyes flashed and she straightened herself up with a majestic air, and—Onawutaquto awoke from his dream. He found himself where he had lain down to fast, and his mother told him he had been absent a year. The change from the beautiful realms in which he had been living to the scenes of earthly existence was at first distasteful. He became moody and abstracted. By degrees, however, these impressions wore away, and he regained his interest in terrestrial pursuits. Now, forgetting the admonition of his heavenly spouse, he married a beautiful woman of his tribe, but his bride died in four days after their marriage. Although thus reminded, Onawutaquto soon married again; when one day he left his lodge for the purpose of hunting, and from that time never was seen by mortal eyes.
THE WITCH AND THE SUN’S SISTER
(_Russian_)
In a certain far-off country there once lived a king and queen. And they had an only son, Prince Ivan, who was dumb from his birth. One day, when he was twelve years old, he went into the stable to see a groom who was a great friend of his.
That groom always used to tell him tales (_skazki_), and on this occasion Prince Ivan went to him expecting to hear some stories (_skazochki_), but that wasn’t what he heard.
“Prince Ivan!” said the groom, “your mother will soon have a daughter, and you a sister. She will be a terrible witch, and she will eat up her father and her mother, and all their subjects. So go and ask your father for the best horse he has—as if you wanted a gallop—and then, if you want to be out of harm’s way, ride away whithersoever your eyes guide you.”
Prince Ivan ran off to his father and, for the first time in his life, began speaking to him.
At that the king was so delighted that he never thought of asking what he wanted a good steed for, but immediately ordered the very best horse he had in his stud to be saddled for the prince.
Prince Ivan mounted, and rode off without caring where he went. Long, long did he ride.
At length he came to where two old women were sewing, and he begged them to let him live with them. But they said:
“Gladly would we do so, Prince Ivan, only we have now but a short time to live. As soon as we have broken that trunkful of needles, and used up that trunkful of thread, that instant will death arrive!”
Prince Ivan burst into tears and rode on. Long, long did he ride. At length he came to where the giant Vertodub was, and he besought him, saying: “Take me to live with you.”
“Gladly would I have taken you, Prince Ivan,” replied the giant, “but now I have very little longer to live. As soon as I have pulled up all these trees by the roots, instantly will come my death!”
More bitterly still did the prince weep as he rode farther and farther on. By and by he came to where the giant Vertogor was, and made the same request to him, but he replied:
“Gladly would I have taken you, Prince Ivan, but I myself have very little longer to live. I am set here, you know, to level mountains. The moment I have settled matters with these you see remaining, then will my death come!”
Prince Ivan burst into a flood of bitter tears, and rode on still farther. Long, long did he ride. At last he came to the dwelling of the Sun’s Sister. She received him into her house, gave him food and drink, and treated him just as if he had been her own son.
The prince now led an easy life. But it was all no use; he couldn’t help being miserable. He longed so to know what was going on at home.
He often went to the top of a high mountain, and thence gazed at the palace in which he used to live, and he could see that it was all eaten away; nothing but the bare walls remained! Then he would sigh and weep. Once when he returned after he had been thus looking and crying, the Sun’s Sister asked him:
“What makes your eyes so red to-day, Prince Ivan?”
“The wind has been blowing in them,” said he.
The same thing happened the second time. Then the Sun’s Sister ordered the wind to stop blowing. Again, a third time did Prince Ivan come back with a blubbered face. This time there was no help for it; he had to confess everything, and then he took to entreating the Sun’s Sister to let him go, that he might satisfy himself about his old home. She would not let him go, but he went on urgently entreating.
So at last he persuaded her, and she let him go away to find out about his home. But first she provided him for the journey with a brush, a comb, and two youth-giving apples. However old anyone might be, let him eat one of these apples, he would grow young again in an instant.
Well, Prince Ivan came to where Vertogor was. There was only just one mountain left! He took his brush and cast it down on the open plain. Immediately there rose out of the earth, goodness knows whence, high, ever so high mountains, their peaks touching the sky. And the number of them was such that there were more than the eye could see! Vertogor rejoiced greatly and blithely recommenced his work.
After a time Prince Ivan came to where Vertodub was, and found that there were only three trees remaining there. So he took the comb and flung it on the open plain. Immediately from somewhere or other there came a sound of trees, and forth from the ground arose dense oak forests, each stem more huge than the others! Vertodub was delighted, thanked the prince, and set to work uprooting the ancient oaks.
By and by Prince Ivan reached the old women, and gave each of them an apple. They ate them, and straightway became young again. So they gave him a handkerchief; you only had to wave it, and behind you lay a whole lake! At last Prince Ivan arrived at home. Out came running his sister to meet him, and caressed him fondly.
“Sit thee down, my brother!” she said. “Play a tune on the lute while I go and get dinner ready.”
The prince sat down and strummed away on the lute (_gusli_).
Then there crept a mouse out of a hole, and said to him in a human voice:
“Save yourself, Prince. Run away quick! your sister has gone to sharpen her teeth.”
Prince Ivan fled from the room, jumped upon his horse, and galloped away back. Meantime the mouse kept running over the strings of the lute. They twanged, and the sister never guessed that her brother was off. When she had sharpened her teeth she burst into the room. Lo and behold! not a soul was there; nothing but the mouse bolting into his hole. The witch waxed wroth, ground her teeth like anything, and set off in pursuit.
Prince Ivan heard a loud noise and looked back. There was his sister chasing him. So he waved his handkerchief, and a deep lake lay behind him. While the witch was swimming across the water, Prince Ivan got a long way ahead. But on she came faster than ever; and now she was close at hand! Vertodub guessed that the prince was trying to escape from his sister. So he began tearing up oaks and strewing them across the road. A regular mountain did he pile up! there was no passing by for the witch! So she set to work to clear the way. She gnawed, and gnawed, and at length contrived by hard work to bore her way through; but by this time Prince Ivan was far ahead.
On she dashed in pursuit, chased and chased. Just a little more, and it would be impossible for him to escape! But Vertogor spied the witch, laid hold of the very highest of all the mountains, pitched it down all of a heap on the road, and flung another mountain right on top of it. While the witch was climbing and clambering, Prince Ivan rode and rode, and found himself a long way ahead. At last the witch got across the mountain, and once more set off in pursuit of her brother. By and by she caught sight of him and exclaimed:
“You sha’n’t get away from me this time!” And now she is close, now she is just going to catch him!
At that very moment Prince Ivan dashed up to the abode of the Sun’s Sister and cried.
“Sun, Sun! open the window!”
The Sun’s Sister opened the window, and the prince bounded through it, horse and all.
Then the witch began to ask that her brother might be given up to her for punishment. The Sun’s Sister would not listen to her, nor would she give him up. Then the witch said:
“Let Prince Ivan be weighed against me, to see which is the heavier. If I am, then I will eat him; but if he is, then let him kill me!”
This was done. Prince Ivan was the first to get into one of the scales; then the witch began to get into the other. But no sooner had she set foot in it than up shot Prince Ivan in the air, and that with such force that he flew right up into the sky, and into the house of the Sun’s Sister.
But as for the Witch-Snake, she remained down below on earth.
THE MAKING OF THE MIRROR
(_Japanese_)
Now, when Amaterasu, the Sun-Goddess, ascended into her kingdom, she reigned there peacefully in great glory; and the fair light of her beauty flooded the earth and the heavens.
Her brother Susa-wo, at the time of his banishment to the under-world, beheld her shining and said:
“I will go and bid farewell to my sister the Sun-Goddess, ere I depart!”
So he mounted to heaven with such sudden violence that the rivers and mountains shook and groaned aloud, and every land and country quaked.
Amaterasu was greatly alarmed and said: “I know my brother desires to take my kingdom from me!” So she girt on her ten-span sword and her nine-span sword, and her necklace of five hundred jewels which she twisted round her hair and arms, and she slung on her thousand-arrow quiver, and great high-sounding elbow-shield. Then she brandished her bow and stamped her feet into the hard ground till it fell away from her like rotten snow, and she stood valiantly, uttering a mighty cry of defiance.
Then Susa-wo stood on the farther side of the Tranquil River of Heaven, which is the Milky Way, and answered her softly with fair words:
“O my sister! I am come hither with a pure heart to bid thee farewell. Why dost thou put on a stern countenance? Let me but see thee once and speak with thee, face to face, ere I depart.” Then the heart of the Sun-Goddess was softened, and she let him enter and cross the River of Heaven. But even here Susa-wo could not rest from his turbulent ways.
Now, in her wisdom, Amaterasu would wonder how best to help and comfort mankind, and on a certain day she sent Susa-wo on a journey to find her sister, the Food-Goddess, as she had many things to inquire of her. When the Food-Goddess looked and saw Susa-wo descending toward her, she quickly prepared a great banquet in his honor, and by her miraculous power she produced from her mouth boiled rice and every kind of fish and game. But Susa-wo, watching her, flew into a rage and cried out: “Thou art unclean! Dost thou offer me what comes from thy mouth?” And he took out his sword and slew her.
When Amaterasu heard this, she was very wroth with her brother, and sent a second messenger to see if the Food-Goddess were really dead. And when he found her, behold, a miracle! All things good for man were growing from her head and body. Millet and grass, mulberry trees with silkworms on them, rice and wheat and large and small beans. The messenger took them all and presented them to the Sun-Goddess, who rejoiced greatly and gave them to mankind, rice for the wet fields and other grains for the dry.
And she planted the mulberry trees on the fragrant hills of heaven, and chewed the cocoons of the silkworms, and spun thread to weave silk garments for the gods.
Now, one day, while she was weaving with her maidens in the sacred hall, word was brought to her that her brother had trampled the rice fields and polluted her storehouses. And when she sought to excuse him he angered her yet more by his folly and violence. So Amaterasu covered her face, and in her grief and anger she hid herself from the sight of all men in a rocky cave, and closed the door.
When her radiance was hidden, all the world was left in deep darkness and confusion, the whole plain of heaven was obscured, and the Land of the Reed-Plains darkened. Night and day were unknown, and neither in heaven nor earth was there any light at all. The sound of many voices rose and fell, like the swarming of bees, and everywhere was trouble and dismay.
In the midst of the gloom the eighty myriads of gods met together in council, and their meeting-place was on the banks of the Milky Way of Heaven. And the Great Wise God, wiser than his fellows, who held in his mind the thoughts and imaginings of all men, said softly: “She is a woman, and surely will be curious. Let us show her something more beautiful than herself!” But as in all High Heaven nothing fairer could be found, they made a mighty mirror, forged by the Blacksmith God from the metals of heaven. Yet the gods were not satisfied, and commanded him to make another. So with his anvil from the Milky Way, and bellows, fashioned from a single deer-skin, he forged a second and yet a third, and this last was perfect and flawless, in shape like the Sun.
And they lit great fires outside the cave and hung the mirror there on the branches of the sacred Sakaki tree, above it a necklace of ever-bright and glittering jewels, and below it some strips of fine-woven cloth. Then the Wise God took from his fellows six long bows and bound them together, and placed them upright in the ground and gently brushed the strings.
And the fair Goddess Amé-no-Uzumé was led forth to dance, her flowing sleeves bound up with the creeping plant Masaki, and her head-dress of trailing Kadsura vine, gathered from the mountains of Heavenly Fragrance, and in her hands the branches of young bamboos hung with tiny bells. These she waved rhythmically to and fro to the sound of her stepping, and as the humming of the bow-strings rose and fell, the eighty Myriad Gods sat around her and joyfully beat the measure.
She sang of the beauty of an unknown goddess, and as her body swayed in cadence, the great assembly of gods laughed aloud till the vault of heaven shook.
The Sun-Goddess wondered greatly at all this mirth and music, and said: “How is it that while the whole Plain of Heaven and the Land of the Reed-Plains is darkened, Uzumé sings and frolics, and the eighty Myriad Gods do laugh?” She peeped inquisitive out of the cave.
Uzumé still sang of the beauty of the Unknown Goddess, and the words of the first song were these:
Gods! from the cavern’s gloom Comes she majestical. Shall not our hearts rejoice? Mine is the victory! Who can resist my charms? Hail, Ever-Shining One!
And wondering—longing—yet unwilling to venture forth, Amaterasu looked from the depths of the cave and listened to the strains, and heard the gods make merry; till, opening wider the door, she stood upon the threshold.
Two gods hastily held forward the mirror, and she saw, amazed, the vision of her own exceeding loveliness. Then the first flush of dawn appeared suddenly in the east, there was a stir as of awakening birds, the mountain-tops blushed pink, and all the gods held their breath.
She stepped forward softly, still gazing entranced, while broad shafts of light shot upward in the sky, and her glory filled the air with rosy radiance. As she looked on her ineffable beauty, the Wise God, twisting a rice-straw rope, stretched it across the mouth of the cave—for never more could she desire to hide her face from a sorrowing world.
And thus with the sunshine came music and dancing, for the delight of men.
* * * * *
In Norse mythology, the story is told that the heavenly bodies were formed of the sparks from Muspelheim. The gods did not create them, but they placed them in the heavens to give light to the world, and assigned them a prescribed locality and motion. Mundilfare was the father of the sun and moon. He had two children, a son and a daughter, so lovely and graceful that he called the boy Maane (Moon), and the girl Sol (Sun), and Sol he gave in marriage to Glener (the Shining One).
The gods, however, were much incensed at the presumption of Mundilfare, so they took his two children and placed them in the heavens, where they let Sol drive the horses of the Sun, while Maane guides the Moon and regulates its increasing and waning aspect.
Very closely akin to a god of the Sun in Norse mythology is Balder the Good. He is the favorite of all the gods and of all men and nature. So fair and dazzling is he in form and features that rays of light seem to issue from him. Some idea of the beauty of his hair may be formed from the fact that the whitest of all plants is called Balder’s brow. Balder is described as the mildest, the wisest and the most eloquent of all the gods, yet such is his nature that the judgment he has pronounced can never be altered. He dwells in the heavenly mansion called Breidablik, meaning the broad-shining splendor, into which nothing unclean can enter. He is, in fact, the God of Light. Some one says of him,[5] “Light is the best thing we have in the world; it is white and pure; it cannot be wounded; no shock can disturb it; nothing in the world can kill it excepting its own negative, darkness (Höder). Loke (Fire) is jealous of it; the pure light of heaven and the blaze of fire are each other’s enemies. Balder does not fight, the mythology gives no exploits by him; he only shines and dazzles, conferring blessings upon all, and this he continues to do steadfast and unchangeable, until darkness steals upon him—darkness that does not itself know what harm it is doing; and when Balder is dead, cries of lamentation are heard throughout all nature.” How his death occurred will be related in the story of him in this chapter.
The God of the Sun in Egypt was Ra, though Osiris is often called the God of the Sun; and probably was identified with the sun in some stage of the long development of this myth, as already mentioned.
Like Balder and other sun gods, Ra has his fight with the demon of darkness in the under world, as described in an ancient Egyptian papyrus, a translation of which is given in this chapter.
In Greek mythology there are two gods of the sun and two goddesses of the moon.[6] The older ones were Helios and Selene, but they became identified with the later celebrated pair, Phœbus Apollo and Artemis or Diana, as the Romans called her, the children of Zeus, the God of the Sky, and Latona. Apollo was not only a god of the sun, who brought the warm sun and the spring, but he was the healer, who warded off the dangers and diseases of summer and autumn. He had a temple at Delphi, where a priestess was wont to give forth oracles in regard to the future, supposed to be revealed by Apollo. He was a founder of cities, a promoter of colonization, a giver of good laws, and, finally, he was the patron of music and poetry. To him were sacred the wolf, the roe, the mouse, the he-goat, the ram, the dolphin, and the swan.
An ancient hymn by Callimachus (240 B.C.) describes him as follows:
“How hath the laurel shoot of Apollo heaved! How the whole of the shrine! Afar, afar be ye, sinners. Now verily doth Phœbus knock at the doors with beauteous foot. See you not? The Delian palm has nodded in a pleasant fashion on a sudden, and the swan sings sweetly on the air. Now of your own accord fall back, ye bolts of the doors, and of yourselves, ye bars. For no longer is the god afar off. Make ready, ye young men, for the song and the choir. Not to every one doth Apollo manifest himself, but to only the good. Whoso shall have seen him, great is he; small that man who hath not seen him.
“We shall behold thee, O Fardarter! and shall be no more of small account. Nor silent lyre, nor noiseless tread should the servants of Phœbus have, when he sojourns among them. Listen and keep holy silence at the song in honor of Apollo.
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“Golden are both the garment and the clasp of Apollo, his lyre, his Lyctian bow, and his quiver: golden, too, his sandals; for Apollo is rich in gold, and has also many possessions.
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“And indeed he is ever beauteous, ever young.
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“Great, too, in art is no one so much as Apollo.
“To Phœbus the care of the bow as well as of song is intrusted.
“To him, likewise, belong divinations and diviners: and from Phœbus physicians have learned the art of delaying death.
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“And following Phœbus men are wont to measure out cities. For Phœbus ever delights in founding cities and Phœbus himself lays their foundations.”
The twin sister of Apollo, Artemis, is first of all the Goddess of the Moon. Its slender arc is her bow; its beams are her arrows, with which she sends upon womenkind a painless death. She determined herself never to fall in love or marry, and so she imposed upon the nymphs she gathered about her vows of perpetual maidenhood, and if any of them broke these vows she punished them severely and swiftly. Graceful in form and free of movement, equipped for the chase, and surrounded by a bevy of fair companions, the swift-rushing goddess was wont to scour hill, valley, forest, and plain. She was, however, not only huntress, but guardian of wild beasts, mistress of horses and kine and other domestic brutes. She ruled marsh and mountain; her gleaming arrows smote sea as well as land. Springs and woodland brooks she favored, for in them she and her attendants were accustomed to bathe. She blessed with verdure the meadows and arable lands, and from them obtained a meed of thanks. When weary of the chase, she turned to music and dancing, for the lyre and flute and song were dear to her. Muses, graces, nymphs, and the fair goddesses themselves thronged the rites of the chorus-leading queen. But ordinarily a woodland chapel or a rustic altar sufficed for her worship. There the hunter laid his offering—antlers, skin, or edible portions of the deer that Artemis of the golden arrows had herself vouchsafed him.
She was mistress of the brute creation, protectress of youth, patron of temperance in all things, guardian of civil right. The cypress tree was sacred to her; and her favorites were the bear, the boar, the dog, the goat, and especially the hind.
A pretty picture is given of Artemis in a hymn by Callimachus which describes how, when sitting yet a blooming child on the knees of her sire, she thus addressed him:
“‘Grant me, kind father, to preserve eternal maidenhood, and many names, that so Phœbus may not vie with me. And give me arrows and bow. Grant it, sire! I ask not a quiver of thee, nor a large bow: the cyclopes will forthwith forge me arrows, and fashion a flexible bow. And I ask to be girt as far as the knee with a tunic of colored border, that I may slay wild beasts. And give me sixty ocean nymphs to form my chorus, all young and of the same age. Give me likewise as attendants twenty Amnisian nymphs, who may duly take care of my buskins, and, when I no longer am shooting lynxes and stags, may tend my fleet dogs. Give me all mountains, and assign to me any city, whichsoever thou choosest. For ’twill be rare, when Artemis shall go down into a city. On mountains will I dwell.’
“Thus having spoken, the maiden wished to touch the beard of her sire, and oft outstretched her hands to no purpose, until at last she might touch it. Then her father assented with a smile, and said as he fondled her: ‘Have, child, whatever you ask of your own choice; but other yet greater gifts will your sire bestow. Thrice ten cities will I present to you, which shall not learn to honor any other god, but thee alone, and shall be called the cities of Artemis. And I will give thee many cities to measure out in common with other gods, on the continent and islands; in all shall be altars and sacred groves of Artemis, and thou shalt be guardian over ways and harbors.’”
THE DEATH OF BALDER THE GOOD
(_From the Norse Eddas_)
This was an event which the asas deemed of great importance. Balder the Good having been tormented by terrible dreams, indicating that his life was in great peril, communicated them to the assembled gods, who, sorrow-stricken, resolved to conjure all things to avert from him the threatened danger. Then Frigg exacted an oath from fire and water, from iron and all other metals, as well as from stones, earths, diseases, beasts, birds, poisons, and creeping things, that none of them would do any harm to Balder. Still Odin feared that the prosperity of the gods had vanished. He saddled his steed Sleipner and rode down to Niflheim, where the dog from Hel met him; it was bloody on the breast and barked a long time at Odin. Odin advanced; the earth trembled beneath him, and he came to the high dwelling of Hel. East of the door he knew the grave of the vala was situated; thither he rode and sang magic songs (_kvao galdra_), until she unwillingly stood up and asked who disturbed her peace, after she had been lying so long covered with snow and wet with dew. Odin called himself Vegtam, a son of Valtam, and asked for whom the benches were strewn with rings and the couches were swimming in gold. She replied that the mead was brewed for Balder, but all the gods would despair. When Odin asked further who should be Balder’s bane, she answered that Höder would hurl the famous branch and become the bane of Odin’s son; but Rind should give birth to a son who, only one night old, should wield a sword, and would neither wash his hands nor comb his hair before he had avenged his brother. But recognizing Odin by an enigmatical question, she said: “You are not Vegtam, as I believed, but you are Odin, the old ruler.” Odin replied: “You are no vala, but the mother of three giants.” Then the vala told Odin to ride home and boast of his journey, but assured him that no one should again visit her thus before Loke should be loosed from his chains and the ruin of the gods had come.
When it had been made known that nothing in the world would harm Balder, it became a favorite pastime of the gods at their meetings to get Balder to stand up and serve them as a mark, some hurling darts at him, some stones, while others hewed at him with their swords and battle-axes; for whatever they did none of them could harm him, and this was regarded by all as a great honor shown to Balder. But when Loke Laufeyarson beheld the scene he was sorely vexed that Balder was not hurt. Assuming, therefore, the guise of a woman he went to Fensal, the mansion of Frigg. That goddess, seeing the pretended woman, inquired of her whether she knew what the gods were doing at their meetings. The woman (Loke) replied that they were throwing darts and stones at Balder without being able to hurt him.
“Ay,” said Frigg, “neither metal nor wood can hurt Balder, for I have exacted an oath from all of them.”
“What!” exclaimed the woman, “have all things sworn to spare Balder?”
“All things,” replied Frigg, “except one little shrub that grows on the eastern side of Valhal, and is called mistletoe, and which I thought too young and feeble to crave an oath from.”
As soon as Loke heard this he went away, and, resuming his natural form, pulled up the mistletoe and repaired to the place where the gods were assembled. There he found Höder standing far to one side without engaging in the sport on account of his blindness. Loke, going up to him, said: “Why do not you also throw something at Balder?”
“Because I am blind,” answered Höder, “and cannot see where Balder is, and besides I have nothing to throw at him.”
“Come, then,” said Loke, “do like the rest, and show honor to Balder by throwing this twig at him, and I will direct your arm toward the place where he stands.”
Höder then took the mistletoe, and under the guidance of Loke darted it at Balder, who, pierced through and through, fell down lifeless. Surely never was there witnessed, either among gods or men, a more atrocious deed than this! When Balder fell the gods were struck speechless with horror, and then they looked at each other; and all were of one mind to lay hands on him who had done the deed, but they were obliged to delay their vengeance out of respect for the sacred place (place of peace) where they were assembled. They at length gave vent to their grief by such loud lamentations that they were not able to express their grief to one another. Odin, however, felt this misfortune most severely, because he knew best how great was the mischief and the loss which the gods had sustained by the death of Balder. When the gods were a little composed, Frigg asked who among them wished to gain all her love and favor by riding to the lower world to try and find Balder, and offer a ransom to Hel if she would permit Balder to return to Asgard; whereupon Hermod, surnamed the Nimble, offered to undertake the journey. Odin’s horse Sleipner was then led forth and prepared for the journey; Hermod mounted him and galloped hastily away.
The gods then took the dead body of Balder and carried it to the sea, where lay Balder’s ship, _Ringhorn_, which was the largest of all ships. But when they wanted to launch this ship, in order to make Balder’s funeral pile on it, they were unable to move it from the place. In this predicament they sent a messenger to Jotunheim for a certain giantess named Hyrroken (the smoking fire), who came riding on a wolf and had twisted serpents for her reins. As soon as she alighted Odin ordered four berserks to hold her steed, but they were obliged to throw the animal down on the ground before they could manage it. Hyrroken then went to the prow of the ship, and with a single push set it afloat; but the motion was so violent that fire sparkled from the underlaid rollers and the whole world shook. Thor, enraged at the sight, grasped his mallet and would have broken the woman’s skull had not the gods interceded for her. Balder’s body was then carried to the funeral pile on board the ship, and this ceremony had such an effect upon Balder’s wife Nanna, daughter of Nep, that her heart broke with grief, and her body was laid upon the same pile and burned with that of her husband. Thor stood beside the pile and consecrated it with his hammer Mjolner. Before his feet sprang up a dwarf called Lit. Thor kicked him with his foot into the fire, so that he also was burned. There was a vast concourse of various kinds of people at Balder’s funeral procession. First of all came Odin, accompanied by Frigg, the valkyries, and his ravens. Then came Frey in his chariot, drawn by the boar Gullinburste (gold-brush), or Slidrugtanne (the sharp-toothed). Heimdal rode his horse Goldtop, and Freyja drove in her chariot drawn by cats. There were also a great number of frost giants and mountain giants present. Odin cast upon the funeral pile the famous ring Draupner, which had been made for him by the dwarfs, and possessed the property of producing every ninth night eight rings of equal weight. Balder’s horse, fully caparisoned, was also laid upon the pile, and consumed in the same flames with the body of his master.
Meanwhile Hermod was proceeding on his mission. Of him it is to be related that he rode nine days and as many nights through dark and deep valleys—so dark that he could not discern anything until he came to the river Gjol and passed over the Gjallar bridge (bridge over the river Gjol), which is covered with glittering gold. Modgud, the maiden who kept the bridge, asked him his name and parentage, and added that the day before five fylkes (kingdoms, bands) of dead men had ridden over the bridge; “but,” she said, “it did not shake as much beneath all of them together as it does under you alone, and you have not the complexion of the dead; why, then, do you ride here on your way to Hel?” “I ride to Hel,” answered Hermod, “to seek for Balder; have you perchance seen him pass this way?” She replied that Balder had ridden over the Gjallar bridge, and that the road to the abodes of death (to Hel) lay downward and toward the north.
Hermod then continued his journey until he came to the barred gates of Hel. Then he alighted from his horse, drew the girths tighter, remounted him, and clapped both spurs into him. The horse cleared the gate with a tremendous leap without touching it. Hermod then rode forward to the palace, alighted and went in, where he found his brother Balder occupying the most distinguished seat in the hall, and spent the night in his company. The next morning he entreated Hel (death) to let Balder ride home with him, representing to her the sorrow which prevailed among the gods. Hel replied that it should now be tried whether Balder was so universally beloved as he was said to be; if, therefore, she added, all things in the world, the living as well as the lifeless, will weep for him, then he shall return to the gods, but if anything speak against him or refuse to weep, then Hel will keep him.
After this Hermod rose up; Balder went with him out of the hall and gave him the ring Draupner, to present as a keepsake to Odin. Nanna sent Frigg a carpet, together with several other gifts, and to Fulla she sent a gold finger-ring. Hermod then rode back to Asgard and related everything that he had heard and witnessed.
The gods upon this dispatched messengers throughout all the world to beseech everything to weep, in order that Balder might be delivered from the power of Hel. All things very willingly complied with the request—man, animals, the earth, stones, trees, and all metals—just as we see things weep when they come out of the frost into the warm air. When the messengers were returning, with the conviction that their mission had been quite successful, they found on their way home a giantess (ogress, _gygr_), who called herself Thok. They bade her also weep Balder out of the dominion of Hel. But she answered:
Thok will weep With dry tears For Balder’s death; Neither in life nor in death Gave he me gladness; Let Hel keep what she has.
BATTLE BETWEEN RA AND ANAPEF OR APEP IN THE UNDERWORLD
(_Egyptian_)
Get thee back, depart, retreat from me, O Anapef; withdraw, or thou shalt be drowned at the pool of Nu, at the place where thy father hath ordered that thy slaughter be performed. Depart thou from the divine place of birth of Ra, wherein is thy terror. I am Ra who dwelleth in his terror. Get thee back, Fiend, before the darts of his beams. Ra hath overthrown thy words, the gods have turned thy face backward, the Lynx hath torn open thy breast, the Scorpion hath cast fetters upon thee, and Maat hath sent forth thy destruction. Those who are in the ways have overthrown thee; fall down and depart, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! O thou that passest over the region in the eastern part of heaven with the sound of the roaring thunder-cloud, O Ra, who openest the gates of the horizon straightway on thy appearance, Apep hath sunk helpless under thy gashings. I have performed thy will, O Ra, I have performed thy will, I have done that which is fair, I have done that which is fair, I have labored for the peace of Ra. I have made to advance thy fetters, O Ra, and Apep hath fallen through thy drawing them tight. The gods of the south and of the north, of the west and of the east, have fastened chains upon him, and they have fettered him with fetters; the god Rekes hath overthrown him and the god Hertit hath put him in chains. Ra setteth, Ra setteth, Ra is strong at his setting. Apep hath fallen; Apep, the enemy of Ra, departeth. Greater is the punishment which hath been inflicted on thee than the sting which is the Scorpion goddess, and mightily hath she, whose course is everlasting, worked in upon thee, and with deadly effect. Thou shalt never enjoy the delights of love, thou shalt never fulfil thy desire, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! He maketh thee to go back, O thou who art hateful to Ra; he looketh upon thee, get thee back! He pierceth thy head, he cutteth through thy face, he divideth thy head at the two sides of the ways, and it is crushed in his land; thy bones are smashed in pieces, thy members are hacked off thee, and the god Aker hath condemned thee, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! Thy mariners are those who keep the reckoning for thee, O Ra; as thou advancest and thou resteth there within are the offerings made to thee. As thou advancest, as thou advancest toward the House. Let not any baleful obstacle proceed from thy mouth against me when thou workest on my behalf. I am Set, who let loose the storm-clouds and the thunder in the horizon of heaven.
THE STORY OF PHŒBUS APOLLO
(_Greek_)
Soon after his birth the Sun God spent a year among the Hyperboreans, where for six continuous months of the year there is sunshine and spring, soft climate, profusion of herbs and flowers, and the very ecstasy of life. During this delay the Delphians sang pæans—hymns of praise—to Apollo, and danced in chorus about the tripod, or three-legged stool, where the expectant priestess of Apollo had taken her seat. At last, when the year was warm, came the god in his chariot drawn by swans—heralded by songs of springtide, of nightingales and swallows and crickets. Then the crystal fount of Castalia and the stream Cephissus overflowed their bounds, and mankind made grateful offerings to the god. But his advent was not altogether peaceful. An enormous serpent (Python) had crept forth from the slime with which, after the flood, the earth was covered; and in the caves of Mount Parnassus this terror of the people lurked. Him Apollo encountered, and after fearful combat slew with arrows, weapons which the god of the silver bow had not before used against any but feeble animals. In commemoration of this conquest, he instituted the Pythian games, in which the victor, in feats of strength, swiftness of foot, or in the chariot race, should be crowned with a wreath of beach leaves.
In his conflict with another monster of darkness, Apollo had the assistance of his sister Artemis (Diana). By their unerring, fiery darts they subdued the giant Tityus, who not only had obstructed the peaceful ways to the oracle of Delphi, but had ventured to insult the mother of the twin deities.
Another event in the life of Apollo shows the fatal effect of his fiery darts upon a young friend, Hyacinthus. The god of the silver bow was in the habit of going with Hyacinthus when he went forth on his hunting and fishing expeditions, or upon tramps in the mountains. One day they decided to play a game of quoits together. Apollo, heaving aloft the discus with strength mingled with skill, sent it high and far. Hyacinthus, excited with the sport and eager to make his throw, ran forward to seize the missile; but it bounded from the earth and struck him in the forehead. He fainted and fell. The god, as pale as himself, raised him and tried all his art to staunch the wound and retain the flitting life, but in vain. As when one has broken the stem of a lily in the garden it hangs its head and turns its flowers to the earth, so the head of the dying boy, as if too heavy for his neck, fell over on his shoulder. “Thou diest, Hyacinth,” said Phœbus, “robbed of thy life by me. Would that I could die for thee! But since that may not be, my lyre shall celebrate thee, my song shall tell thy fate, and thou shalt become a flower inscribed with my regret.” While the golden god spoke, the blood which had flowed on the ground and stained the herbage ceased to be blood, and a flower of hue more beautiful than Tyrian purple sprang up, resembling in shape the lily. Phœbus then, to confer still greater honor, marked the petals with his sorrow, inscribing “Ai! ai!” upon them. The flower bears the name of Hyacinthus, and with returning spring revives the memory of his fate.
Apollo was also a perfect magician in music. He helped Neptune, the God of the Sea, to build the walls of the ancient and far-famed city of Troy simply by playing on his lyre.
It is said that upon one occasion Pan had the temerity to compare his music with that of Apollo, and to challenge the God of the Lyre to a trial of skill. The challenge was accepted, and Tmolus, the Mountain God, was chosen umpire. The Senior took his seat, and cleared away the trees from his ears to listen. At a given signal, Pan blew on his pipes, and with his rustic melody gave great satisfaction to himself and his faithful follower Midas, who happened to be present. Then Tmolus turned his head toward the Sun God, and all his trees turned with him. Apollo rose, his brow wreathed with Parnassian laurel, while his robe of Tyrian purple swept the ground. In his left hand he held the lyre, and with his right hand struck the strings. Tmolus at once awarded the victory to the lyric god, and all but Midas acquiesced in the judgment. He dissented, and questioned the justice of the award, and Apollo promptly transformed his depraved pair of ears into those of an ass.
THE STORY OF ARTEMIS AND ORION
(_Greek_)
Orion, the son of Neptune, was a giant and a mighty hunter, whose prowess and manly favor gained for him the rare good-will of Artemis. It is related that he loved Merope, the daughter of Œnopion, king of Chios, and sought her in marriage. He cleared the island of wild beasts, and brought the spoils of the chase as presents to his beloved; but as Œnopion constantly deferred his consent, Orion attempted to gain possession of the maiden by violence. Her father, incensed at this conduct, made Orion drunk, deprived him of his sight, and cast him out on the seashore. The blinded hero, instructed by an oracle to seek the rays of morning, followed the sound of a Cyclop’s hammer till he reached Lemnos, where Vulcan, taking pity on him, gave him Cedalion, one of his men, to be his guide to the abode of the sun. Placing Cedalion on his shoulders, Orion proceeded to the east, and there meeting the Sun God, was restored to sight by his beam.
After this he used to go hunting with Artemis, much to the displeasure of Apollo, who did not like his sister to make such a friend of Orion. One day, therefore, observing Orion as he walked through the sea, with his head just above water, Apollo pointed out the black object to his sister, and maintained that she could not hit it. The archer goddess discharged a shaft with fatal aim; the waves rolled the dead body of Orion to the land. Then, bewailing with many tears the death of her friend, Artemis placed him among the stars, where he appears as a giant, with a girdle, sword, lion’s skin, and club. Sirius, his dog, follows him, and the Pleiades fly before him. In the beginning of winter, all through the night, Orion follows the chase across the heavens, but with dawn he sinks toward the waters of his father, Neptune. In the beginning of summer he may be seen, with daybreak, in the eastern sky, till Artemis draws again her darts and slays him.
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The myths of the stars are almost as numerous as those of the sun and moon, and exist everywhere. A very prevalent idea in regard to them is that human beings are transformed into stars; for example, in Australia they say that the god Pundjel made stars of all the good men and women after the Deluge. In Greek mythology, the gods very frequently turned men and women into stars. Both in Australia and Greece the stars the Greeks called, and we know now as, Castor and Pollux were two young men. In the first case they are said to be two hunters, in the second they were two brothers so famous for their brotherly love that Zeus, desiring to make their memory immortal, placed them both among the stars. Sometimes a human being or an animal is transformed into a whole constellation or group of stars. The story told about the constellations of the Great Bear and the Little Bear in Greece is that once a nymph, Callisto, of the train of Artemis, who fell in love, was changed into a bear by Juno. One day long after she saw a youth hunting, and recognized him as her own son. She stopped and wanted to embrace him, but her son, not recognizing her in her bear form, was on the point of transfixing her when Zeus arrested the crime, and, snatching away both of them, placed them in the heavens as the Great Bear and the Little Bear. The story of Orion’s translation into a constellation has already been given. Around the group of stars called the Pleiades cluster many legends. Of this group of seven stars one is so dim that it seems entirely to disappear. A South Australian legend tells that the Pleiades were a queen and her six attendants. The Crow fell in love with the queen, who refused to be his wife. The Crow, however, found that the queen and her six maidens were in the habit of hunting for white, edible grubs in the bark of trees. The Crow at once changed himself into a grub and hid in the bark of a tree. The six maidens sought to pick him out with their wooden hooks, but he broke the points of all the hooks. Then came the queen with her pretty bone hook; he let himself be drawn out, took the shape of a giant, and ran away with her. Ever since there have only been six stars and six maidens in the Pleiades. According to a Greek myth, the Pleiades, who still fly before Orion in the heavens, were daughters of Atlas and nymphs of the train of Artemis. One day they were pursued by the giant hunter Orion, and, being very much frightened, they prayed to the gods to change their form. Zeus heard their prayers, changed them into pigeons, and placed them among the stars. Though their number was seven, only six stars are now visible, for it is said Electra left her place that she might not behold the ruin of Troy, which had been founded by her son Dardanus. The sight had such an effect on her sisters that they blanched, and have been pale ever since. But Electra became a comet. Her hair floating wildly, she still ranges inconsolably the expanse of heaven.
The prettiest notion in regard to the stars is that they are the souls of the dead. In Germany, for example, they thought that when a child died, God made a new star.
The North American Indians are particularly fond of star myths, and they have invented some charming star stories. According to them, stars might come down and talk to men, after the manner of one whose story is given below. It came down and told a hunter where to find game.
Some of the animal constellations among the stars are evidently metamorphosed totems, for there is a widespread belief that these star animals or men were the ancestors of the people, and that ages ago they had been lifted up to heaven. The Milky Way is described by the Indians sometimes as the “path of spirits and the road of souls,” sometimes as the “road of birds along which the souls of the good go flitting like birds, to dwell at last in heaven in peace.”
STORY OF THE CHILD AND THE STAR
(_Iowa Indian_)
Many years ago a child, when very young, observed a star in the heavens that attracted him more than any others. As the child grew to manhood his attachment increased. His thoughts dwelt continually on this beauty of the night. One day, while hunting, as he sat down, travel-worn and weary with his ill-success, his beloved star appeared to him and comforted him with encouraging words, and then conducted him to a place where he found a great plenty and variety of game. From this time the young man showed a wonderful improvement in the art of hunting, and soon became celebrated in this pursuit.
OSSEO, THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR
(_North American Indian_)
There once lived an Indian in the north who had ten daughters, all of whom grew up to womanhood. They were noted for their beauty, especially Oweenee, the youngest, who was very independent in her way of thinking. She was a great admirer of romantic places, and spent much of her time with the flowers and winds and clouds in the open air. Though the flower were homely, if it was fragrant—though the wind were rough, if it was healthful—and though the cloud were dark, if it embosomed the fruitful rain, she knew how, in spite of appearances, to acknowledge the good qualities concealed from the eye. She paid very little attention to the many handsome young men who came to her father’s lodge for the purpose of seeing her.
Her elder sisters were all sought in marriage, and one after the other they went off to dwell in the lodges of their husbands; but Oweenee was deaf to all proposals of the kind. At last she married an old man called Osseo, who was scarcely able to walk, and who was too poor to have things like others. The only property he owned in the world was the walking-staff which he carried in his hand. Though thus poor and homely, Osseo was a devout and good man; faithful in all his duties, and obedient in all things to the Good Spirit. Of course they jeered and laughed at Oweenee on all sides, but she seemed to be quite happy, and said to them, “It is my choice and you will see in the end who has acted the wisest.”
They made a special mock of the walking-staff, and scarcely an hour in the day passed that they did not make some disparaging reference to it. Among themselves they spoke of Osseo of the walking-staff, in derision, as the owner of the big woods, or the great timber-man.
“True,” said Oweenee, “it is but a simple stick; but as it supports the steps of my husband, it is more precious to me than all the forests of the north.”
A time came when the sisters, and their husbands, and their parents were all invited to a feast. As the distance was considerable, they doubted whether Osseo, so aged and feeble, would be able to undertake the journey; but in spite of their friendly doubts, he joined them, and set out with a good heart.
As they walked along the path they could not help pitying their young and handsome sister who had such an unsuitable mate. She, however, smiled upon Osseo, and kept with him by the way the same as if he had been the comeliest bridegroom in all the company. Osseo often stopped and gazed upward; but they could perceive nothing in the direction in which he looked, unless it was the faint glimmering of the evening star. They heard him muttering to himself as they went along, and one of the elder sisters caught the words, “Pity me, my father!”
“Poor old man,” said she; “he is talking to his father. What a pity it is that he would not fall and break his neck, that our sister might have a young husband.”
Presently, as they came to a great rock where Osseo had been used to breathe his morning and his evening prayer, the star emitted a brighter ray, which shone directly in his face. Osseo, with a sharp cry, fell trembling to the earth, where the others would have left him; but his good wife raised him up, and he sprang forward on the path, and with steps light as the reindeer he led the party, no longer decrepit and infirm, but a beautiful young man. On turning around to look for his wife, behold! she had become changed, at the same moment, into an aged and feeble woman, bent almost double, and walking with the staff which he had cast aside.
Osseo immediately joined her, and with looks of fondness and the tenderest regard, bestowed on her every endearing attention, and constantly addressed her by the term of ne-ne-moosh-a, or my sweetheart.
As they walked along, whenever they were not gazing fondly in each other’s face, they bent their looks on heaven, and a light, as if of far-off stars, was in their eyes.
On arriving at the lodge of the hunter with whom they were to feast, they found the banquet ready, and as soon as their entertainer had finished his harangue—in which he told them his feasting was in honor of the Evening or Woman’s Star—they began to partake of the portion dealt out, according to age and character, to each one of the guests. The food was very delicious, and they were all happy but Osseo, who looked at his wife, and then gazed upward, as if he was looking into the substance of the sky. Sounds were soon heard, as if from far-off voices in the air, and they became plainer and plainer, till he could clearly distinguish some of the words.
“My son, my son,” said the voice, “I have seen your afflictions, and pity your wants. I come to call you away from a scene that is stained with blood and tears. The earth is full of sorrows. Wicked spirits, the enemies of mankind, walk abroad, and lie in wait to ensnare the children of the sky. Every night they are lifting their voices to the Power of Evil, and every day they make themselves busy in casting mischief in the hunter’s path. You have long been their victim, but you shall be their victim no more. The spell you were under is broken. Your evil genius is overcome. I have cast him down by my superior strength, and it is this strength I now exert for your happiness. Ascend, my son; ascend into the skies, and partake of the feast I have prepared for you in the stars, and bring with you those you love.
“The food set before you is enchanted and blessed. Fear not to partake of it. It is endowed with magic power to give immortality to mortals, and to change men to spirits. Your bowls and kettles shall no longer be wood and earth. The one shall become silver and the other pure gold. They shall shine like fire, and glisten like the most beautiful scarlet. Every female shall also change her state and looks, and no longer be doomed to laborious tasks. She shall put on the beauty of the starlight, and become a shining bird of the air. She shall dance, and not work. She shall sing, and not cry.
“My beams,” continued the voice, “shine faintly on your lodge, but they have power to transform it into the lightness of the skies, and decorate it with the colors of the clouds. Come, Osseo, my son, and dwell no longer on earth. Think strongly on my words, and look steadfastly at my beams. My power is now at its height. Doubt not, delay not. It is the voice of the Spirit of the Stars that calls you away to happiness and celestial rest.”
The words were intelligible to Osseo, but his companions thought them some far-off sounds of music, or birds singing in the woods. Very soon the lodge began to shake and tremble, and they felt it rising into the air. It was too late to run out, for they were already as high as the tops of the trees. Osseo looked around him as the lodge passed through the topmost boughs, and behold! their wooden dishes were changed into shells of a scarlet color, the poles of the lodge to glittering rods of silver, and the bark that covered them into the gorgeous wings of insects.
A moment more and his brothers and sisters, and their parents and friends, were transformed into birds of various plumage. Some were jays, some partridges and pigeons, and others gay singing birds, who hopped about, displaying their many-colored feathers, and singing songs of cheerful note.
But his wife, Oweenee, still kept her earthly garb, and exhibited all the indications of extreme old age. He again cast his eyes in the direction of the clouds, and uttered the peculiar cry which had given him the victory at the rock. In a moment the youth and beauty of his wife returned; her dingy garments assumed the shining appearance of green silk, and her staff was changed into a silver feather.
The lodge again shook and trembled, for they were now passing through the uppermost clouds, and they immediately after found themselves in the Evening Star, the residence of Osseo’s father.
“My son,” said the old man, “hang that cage of birds which you have brought along in your hand at the door, and I will inform you why you and your wife have been sent for.”
Osseo obeyed, and then took his seat in the lodge.
“Pity was shown to you,” resumed the King of the Star, “on account of the contempt of your wife’s sisters, who laughed at her ill fortune, and ridiculed you while you were under the power of that wicked spirit whom you overcame at the rock. That spirit lives in the next lodge, being the small star you see on the left of mine, and he has always felt envious of my family because we had greater power, and especially because we had committed to us the care of the female world. He failed in many attempts to destroy your brothers and sisters-in-law, but succeeded at last in transforming yourself and your wife into decrepit old persons. You must be careful and not let the light of his beams fall on you while you are here, for therein lies the power of his enchantment. A ray of light is the bow and arrow he uses.”
Osseo lived happy and contented in the parental lodge, and in due time his wife presented him with a son, who grew up rapidly, and in the very likeness of Osseo himself. He was very quick and ready in learning everything that was done in his grandfather’s dominions, but he wished also to learn the art of hunting, for he had heard that this was a favorite pursuit below. To gratify him, his father made him a bow and arrows, and he then let the birds out of the cage that he might practise in shooting. In this pastime he soon became expert, and the very first day he brought down a bird; but when he went to pick it up, to his amazement it was a beautiful young woman, with the arrow sticking in her breast. It was one of his younger aunts.
The moment her blood fell upon the surface of that pure and spotless planet, the charm was dissolved. The boy immediately found himself sinking, although he was partly upheld by something like wings until he passed through the lower clouds, and he then suddenly dropped upon a high, breezy island in a large lake. He was pleased, on looking up, to see all his aunts and uncles following him in the form of birds, and he soon discovered the silver lodge, with his father and mother, descending, with its waving tassels fluttering like so many insects’ gilded wings. It rested on the loftiest cliffs of the island, and there they fixed their residence. They all resumed their natural shapes, but they were diminished to the size of fairies; and as a mark of homage to the King of the Evening Star, they never failed on every pleasant evening during the summer season to join hands and dance upon the top of the rocks. These rocks were quickly observed by the Indians to be covered, in moonlight evenings, with a larger sort of Ininees, or little men, and were called Mish-in-e-mok-in-ok-ong, or Little Spirits, and the island is named from them to this day.
Their shining lodge can be seen in the summer evenings, when the moon beams strongly on the pinnacles of the rocks; and the fishermen who go near those high cliffs at night have even heard the voices of the happy little dancers. And Osseo and his wife, as fondly attached to each other as ever, always lead the dance.
THE WANDERING STAR
(_A Chippewa Legend_)
A quarrel arose among the stars, when one of them was driven from its home in the heavens, and descended to the earth. It wandered from one path to another, and was seen hovering over the campfires when the people were preparing to sleep. Among all the people in the world, only one could be found who was not afraid of this star, and this was a daughter of a Chippewa. She was not afraid of the star, but admired and loved it. When she awoke in the night she always beheld it, for the star loved the maiden. In midsummer the young girl, on going into the woods for berries, lost her way, when a storm arose. Her cries for rescue were answered only by the frogs. A lonely night came, when she looked for her star in vain; the storm overcast the sky, and at length caught her in its fury and bore her away. Many seasons passed, during which the star was seen, dimmed and wandering, in the sky. At length, one autumn, it disappeared. Then a hunter saw a small light hanging over the water within the marshland in which he was hunting. He returned to announce the strange sight. “That,” said the old wise man, “was the star driven from heaven, now wandering in search of our lost maiden, our beautiful child of the Chippewas.”
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE STARS
(_North American Indian_)
Waupee, or the White Hawk, lived in a remote part of the forest, where animals abounded. Every day he returned from the chase with a large spoil, for he was one of the most skilful and lucky hunters of his tribe. His form was like the cedar; the fire of youth beamed from his eye; there was no forest too gloomy for him to penetrate, and no track made by bird or beast of any kind which he could not readily follow.
One day he had gone beyond any point which he had ever before visited. He travelled through an open wood, which enabled him to see a great distance. At length he beheld a light breaking through the foliage of the distant trees, which made him sure that he was on the borders of a prairie. It was a wide plain, covered with long blue grass, and enamelled with flowers of a thousand lovely tints.
After walking for some time without a path, musing upon the open country, and enjoying the fragrant breeze, he suddenly came to a ring worn among the grass and the flowers, as if it had been made by footsteps moving lightly round and round. But it was strange—so strange as to cause the White Hawk to pause and gaze long and fixedly upon the ground—there was no path which led to this flowery circle. There was not even a crushed leaf nor a broken twig, nor the least trace of a footstep, approaching or retiring, to be found. He thought he would hide himself and lie in wait to discover, if he could, what this strange circle meant.
Presently he heard the faint sounds of music in the air. He looked up in the direction they came from, and as the magic notes died away he saw a small object, like a little summer cloud that approaches the earth, floating down from above. At first it was very small, and seemed as if it could have been blown away by the first breeze that came along; but it rapidly grew as he gazed upon it, and the music every moment came clearer and more sweetly to his ear. As it neared the earth it appeared as a basket, and it was filled with twelve sisters, of the most lovely forms and enchanting beauty.
As soon as the basket touched the ground they leaped out, and began straightway to dance, in the most joyous manner, around the magic ring, striking, as they did so, a shining ball, which uttered the most ravishing melodies, and kept time as they danced.
The White Hawk, from his concealment, entranced, gazed upon their graceful forms and movements. He admired them all, but he was most pleased with the youngest. He longed to be at her side, to embrace her, to call her his own; and unable to remain longer a silent admirer, he rushed out and endeavored to seize this twelfth beauty who so enchanted him. But the sisters, with the quickness of birds, the moment they descried the form of a man, leaped back into the basket, and were drawn up into the sky.
Lamenting his ill-luck, Waupee gazed longingly upon the fairy basket as it ascended and bore the lovely sisters from his view. “They are gone,” he said, “and I shall see them no more.”
He returned to his solitary lodge, but he found no relief to his mind. He walked abroad, but to look at the sky, which had withdrawn from his sight the only being he had ever loved, was painful to him now.
The next day, selecting the same hour, the White Hawk went back to the prairie, and took his station near the ring; in order to deceive the sisters, he assumed the form of an opossum, and sat among the grass as if he were there engaged in chewing the cud. He had not waited long when he saw the cloudy basket descend, and heard the same sweet music falling as before. He crept slowly toward the ring; but the instant the sisters caught sight of him they were startled, and sprang into their car. It rose a short distance when one of the elder sisters spoke.
“Perhaps,” she said, “it has come to show us how the game is played by mortals.”
“Oh, no!” the youngest replied. “Quick, let us ascend.”
And all joining in a chant, they rose out of sight.
Waupee, casting off his disguise, walked sorrowfully back to his lodge—but, ah! the night seemed very long to lonely White Hawk. His whole soul was filled with the thought of the beautiful sister.
Betimes, the next day, he returned to the haunted spot, hoping and fearing, and sighing as though his very soul would leave his body in its anguish. He reflected upon the plan he should follow to secure success. He had already failed twice; to fail a third time would be fatal. Near by he found an old stump, much covered with moss, and just then in use as the residence of a number of mice, who had stopped there on a pilgrimage to some relatives on the other side of the prairie. The White Hawk was so pleased with their tidy little forms that he thought he, too, would be a mouse, especially as they were by no means formidable to look at, and would not be at all likely to create alarm.
He accordingly, having first brought the stump and set it near the ring, without further notice became a mouse, and peeped and sported about, and kept his sharp little eyes busy with the others; but he did not forget to keep one eye up toward the sky, and one ear wide open in the same direction.
It was not long before the sisters, at their customary hour, came down and resumed their sport.
“But see,” cried the younger sister, “that stump was not there before.”
She ran off, frightened, toward the basket. Her sisters only smiled, and gathering round the old tree stump, they struck it, in jest, when out ran the mice, and among them Waupee. They killed them all but one, which was pursued by the younger sister. Just as she had raised a silver stick which she held in her hand to put an end to it, too, the form of the White Hawk arose, and he clasped his prize in his arms. The other eleven sprang to their basket, and were drawn up to the skies.
Waupee exerted all his skill to please his bride and win her affections. He wiped the tears from her eyes; he related his adventures in the chase; he dwelt upon the charms of life on the earth. He was constant in his attentions, keeping fondly by her side, and picking out the way for her to walk as he led her gently toward his lodge. He felt his heart glow with joy as he entered it, and from that moment he was one of the happiest of men.
Winter and summer passed rapidly away, and as the spring drew near with its balmy gales and its many-colored flowers, their happiness was increased by the presence of a beautiful boy in their lodge. What more of earthly blessing was there for them to enjoy?
Waupee’s wife was a daughter of one of the stars, and as the scenes of earth began to pall upon her sight, she sighed to revisit her father. But she was obliged to hide these feelings from her husband. She remembered the charm that would carry her up, and while White Hawk was engaged in the chase, she took occasion to construct a wicker basket, which she kept concealed. In the meantime she collected such rarities from the earth as she thought would please her father, as well as the most dainty kinds of food.
One day when Waupee was absent, and all was in readiness, she went out to the charmed ring, taking with her her little son. As they entered the car she commenced her magical song, and the basket rose. The song was sad, and of a lowly and mournful cadence, and as it was wafted far away by the wind, it caught her husband’s ear. It was a voice which he well knew, and he instantly ran to the prairie. Though he made breathless speed, he could not reach the ring before his wife and child had ascended beyond his reach. He lifted up his voice in loud appeals, but they were unavailing. The basket still went up. He watched it till it became a small speck, and finally it vanished in the sky. He then bent his head down to the ground, and was miserable.
Through a long winter and a long summer Waupee bewailed his loss, but he found no relief. The beautiful spirit had come and gone, and he should see it no more!
He mourned his wife’s loss sorely, but his son’s still more; for the boy had both the mother’s beauty and the father’s strength.
In the meantime his wife had reached her home in the stars, and in the blissful employments of her father’s house she had almost forgotten that she had left a husband upon the earth. But her son, as he grew up, resembled more and more his father, and every day he was restless and anxious to visit the scene of his birth. His grandfather said to his daughter, one day:
“Go, my child, and take your son down to his father, and ask him to come up and live with us. But tell him to bring along a specimen of each kind of bird and animal he kills in the chase.”
She accordingly took the boy and descended. The White Hawk, who was ever near the enchanted spot, heard her voice as she came down the sky. His heart beat with impatience as he saw her form and that of his son, and they were soon clasped in his arms.
He heard the message of the Star, and he began to hunt with the greatest activity, that he might collect the presents with all dispatch. He spent whole nights, as well as days, in searching for every curious and beautiful animal and bird. He only preserved a foot, a wing, or a tail of each.
When all was ready, Waupee visited once more each favorite spot—the hill-top whence he had been used to see the rising sun; the stream where he had sported as a boy; the old lodge, now looking sad and solemn, which he was to sit in no more; and, last of all, coming to the magic circle, he gazed widely around him with tearful eyes, and, taking his wife and child by the hand, they entered the car and were drawn up—into a country far beyond the flight of birds, or the power of mortal eye to pierce.
Great joy was manifested upon their arrival at the starry plains. The Star Chief invited all his people to a feast; and when they had assembled, he proclaimed aloud that each one might continue as he was, an inhabitant of his own dominions, or select of the earthly gifts such as he liked best. A very strange confusion immediately arose; not one but sprang forward. Some chose a foot, some a wing, some a tail, and some a claw. Those who selected tails or claws were changed into animals, and ran off; the others assumed the form of birds, and flew away. Waupee chose a white hawk’s feather. His wife and son followed his example, and each one became a white hawk. He spread his wings, and, followed by his wife and son, descended with the other birds to the earth, where he is still to be found, with the brightness of the starry plains in his eye and the freedom of the heavenly breezes in his wings.